in the rain
by shadows and sunshine
Summary: She has no common sense or logic or good judgment, only a heart that refuses to be defeated...and she won't let go, even if it's killing her.' Harry Potter's most tragic love story, told in thirteen parts. -oneshot-


Oh, boy. Here comes a very long one-shot about Remus and Tonks. I've never written about such a major pairing before, so I'm a little iffy about this. Oh, this is for the Character and Scene Challenge at the HPFC forum, with the prompts 'Remus Lupin standing in the rain.'

xxx

_in the rain_

i.

There really isn't any other way to say this. He's tried, _I can't be with you _and _I'm sorry, but it won't work, _and other variations, but she's either the most stubborn person alive or she just doesn't get it. Cruelty is the only option.

So he draws himself up to his full height and says, the words choking in his throat, "I don't love you. I never will."

She blinks, uncomprehending. It nearly kills him to do it, but he repeats himself. "I don't love you."

The lie, it seems, becomes easier to say after just two repetitions, though no easier, he assumes, to hear. She doesn't react at first, but after the third time, her face crumbles.

This is so much worse than her tears, even though she has none to shed, because every torrential, agonizing emotion is splayed out on her face for all to see. Denial. Anguish. Anger. And then anguish all over again.

But beneath the anger, he still glimpses a glimmer of hope in her eyes. As difficult as it is, he knows he must eradicate it. Extinguish it. So he does the worst thing possible—what will hurt her more than words ever could: he leaves.

ii.

Whatever he might have seen, she's not giving up. It's not that she doesn't _want _to, sometimes, but she simply _can't. _Every part of her is embedded with the feeling, and as much as she yearns to break free of it, she internally repels that notion.

She stays and fights and doesn't let go. She holds on, and even though it's killing her, her grasp refuses to loosen. It's funny, she muses. She ought to have a better survival instinct than that, being an Auror and all. But this falls outside the realm of fighting Death Eaters and spells and missions. It's so much _harder _to handle.

Really, survival is all about common sense, and clearly, she has none. She has no common sense or logic or good judgment, only a heart that refuses to be defeated.

She can't even remember a time when her heart didn't beat like a propeller when he neared or butterflies didn't flutter in her stomach when their hands happened to brush. It feels like this part of her has been forever, and everything before that was just a past no longer connected to this present. She without him was like a blank canvas. Empty.

So when he says he doesn't love her, she doesn't believe him—or maybe she does, but she doesn't care. At this point, there's nothing he could say or do that could change anything. She's in way too deep already.

iii.

She's so damn _stubborn. _

She just refuses to give up, and maybe it would have gotten a little annoying if he didn't secretly appreciate it. It might have gotten old and tired and just plain boring after a while if he didn't crave her love so badly.

Secretly—and he hates himself for this, more than he hates himself for being a monster—he hopes that she'll never give up.

Every part of him aches to deny these feelings, wants to _want _to shun her and push her away, but he simply can't. _Not _loving her is a borderline impossible task.

That's why he can't refuse her company when she offers him tea or sits down beside him and starts blabbering about who-knows-what, and he can't turn away when she tries to hug him goodbye. It's cruelty, he knows. But he just can't seem to help it.

iv.

This all would be a lot easier, she thinks, if he weren't so noble. But if he weren't, she wouldn't love him the way she does. And she doesn't want to not love him. It's a deadly circle that she can't stop spinning, trapped forever swirling around in the same poisonous pattern.

It would be easier if she weren't absolutely _convinced _of the feelings he's hiding. It would be easier if he tried harder to hide them; then maybe she wouldn't stay up all night wondering, tracing that same pattern in her head.

But since when, she asks herself, is anything ever easy?

v.

It's nights like these that he thinks it would be easier if he'd never been born. The whole of his existence doesn't outweigh the feeling he gets when he transforms, fur prickling his back and fangs ripping his mouth wide open, when he feels himself losing control.

It's even worse when he wakes up, not knowing where he is, confused and bruised and bloody in someone else's garden.

This time, though, it's different. He wakes up to a familiar bathroom and a familiar feeling—of butterflies in his stomach and a light touch along his hands, and—

He opens his eyes, and there she is, leaning over him with nothing but fierce determination on her face, treating his wounds with feather-light fingers and he's never seen her be so gentle before, or so beautiful.

She sees that he's watching her every moment with intense concentration, but she doesn't stop or acknowledge his consciousness. All she says is this:

"You should shower." And her voice doesn't sound like hers, it's gentle and sweet but with a strict edge, almost reminiscent of Molly Weasley's, but with a quality all her own.

And when he goes into the shower, she sits on the bathroom floor and waits for him to come out, so she can check that his bandages are still intact, and that, he thinks, is the moment that he truly falls in love with her.

vi.

She won't give up now. She can feel how close she is to finally reaching him, but it's more than a competition the way it sometimes feels. It's everything. She holds onto every moment between them with a fierce certainty that someday it'll all be real and lasting.

And even despite her mousy brown locks and changed Patronus, she staves off depression, fighting that as well with all of her leftover strength. Because she's not _un_loved, no matter what he says.

She doesn't try to convince Molly Weasley of this when she sits down to their usual Sunday tea and sympathy sessions, because Molly already knows. But she sits and stirs and soaks up the warmth and love that flows off the motherly character while she can.

And then the Patronus comes—an eagle, and it's Minerva's—she only catches the end of its spiel: _someone's been attacked by Greyback._

She goes to Hogwarts running.

vii.

Standing beside her in the hospital wing, he knows it's finally time to give up the fight. He's been trying _so hard _it's killing both of them sooner than his monster ever could.

It takes him maybe days after that decision to finally bring it all together to tell her this, and when he finally comes up to her planning to, he can't find the words.

But he'll always remember the look on her face when he reaches out to take her hand.

viii.

He's hers now—after all that fighting and heartbreak, they're finally together—but it's not the way she expected it to be. They're married in a small ceremony in a small chapel, and it's as quaint and perfect as she expected it to be, but nothing else is.

It's not the happiness and rainbows and blue skies that the books make it out to be. It's fighting and tears and apologies that come in the form of nights locked in fierce embraces and hands trailing across each other's bodies.

But it's _real. _Finally, after so long, it's them together, not in fantasies or imagination. It's not a dream come true, but then again: since when has it ever been easy?

And then comes the morning sickness and the strange urge to eat everything she can lay her hands on, and all of a sudden everything is _too _real. It's overwhelmingly true—she's pregnant and that's unchangeable, not like one of her waifish dreams.

When she finally tells him, "I'm pregnant," and he leaves, it's not like before, either. When he told her he loved her, she shed her armor. Now that he's gone and she's without protection, she shatters.

ix.

He can't believe he let himself be so _stupid. _She's pregnant and it's all his fault and what happens now, to their baby if it's _just like him_? He hates himself more than he ever has before, and even more when he slams the door and she goes to live with her mother.

But he doesn't feel anything but sadness when he realizes that he has to make his next transformation alone. He expects to wake up in his same, sad, confused state; he doesn't doubt this for a moment. But it'll be harder now, because he's used to being taken care of, and these last few months have made him soft.

He dreads this particular full moon like he hasn't in thirty years.

But when he wakes up, she's leaning over him like before, treating his wounds like she had that fateful night, except this time, tears are streaming down her cheeks and he has the strength to lift himself up and kiss her.

Finally, the conviction that she's had the whole time rings clear to him: she'll never let him go. He can't believe he didn't realize it the whole time.

And when he rubs her bulging stomach and she leans her head against his shoulder, he falls in love with her all over again.

x.

Teddy Remus Lupin is born April 14, 1998, after hours of pain and waiting and tears. But he's worth it—it's undeniable. And the look in his eyes when he holds his newborn son is almost as good as when she notices that he has his mother's eyes and her Metamorphic ability and not his father's transformations.

She holds her son close to him and sings him lullabies, only he's not just her son, he's hers _and _his, and that's an entirely different story. They have a family now, and he can't just up and leave. Not that she ever believed it of him for a second.

xi.

He's sitting with his wife and his newborn son when Minerva McGonagall's eagle Patronus informs them of the battle taking place, and, at once, he gets to his feet. To his surprise, she does, too.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

She looks at him blankly, as if the answer is obvious, and panic freezes into fear in his belly.

"You stay here," he says. "Please."

She takes one look at her son and one at her husband. He doesn't _want _to leave, but he has to—there's simply no other choice. And even if it's tearing him apart, this is _the _battle, for crying out loud, and they need him.

He takes her hand and squeezes it, hard, with all of the conviction and promise of return he can put into that simple gesture. He kisses his wife, and then his son, whose hair is now a shocking shade of turquoise, and then he's gone.

xii.

Of course she doesn't listen. She doesn't know why he expected her to. And as she draws her wand and rushes towards the Great Hall, a million thoughts run through her head. Of him and her son and—_oh god, how could I leave him alone?_—but there's no time to think when a jet of red shoots past her and she turns to see the thin-faced Death Eater grinning.

But his face is eclipsed by someone infinitely more important, only _his _face is still and silent and pale as snow.

She shouts and hurdles towards her husband, lying on the ground beneath the Death Eater's feet, but a wand slashes the air and she's blinded by green light. Her last thought is that when she left him, Teddy was crying.

xiii.

When he opens his eyes, it's as if he's awakening from a transformation, because he doesn't know where he is. Except this time, he's fully clothed and unscathed, standing in the middle of a street in the pouring rain.

He doesn't know what has happened, but the last thing he can remember—

He dares not think about it, because that would acknowledge the truth. And just like that—just the simple flash of green light, a memory that stings like a paper cut, and his heart shatters.

This is worse than any transformations, any attempt to fight feelings, any door slammed shut, because this time, he's left her in the worst way.

His fists come to his face and he lets out a sound halfway between a roar and a sob, and then, everything is peaceful. A sudden calm has spread over him, and he drops his hand and lifts his gaze.

Because there's a small figure with a heart-shaped face and familiar pink hair walking towards him, a smile on her face—she's shadowed by the pouring rain, but he recognizes her instantly.

"_Dora,_" he murmurs.

"Remus," she breathes, and they embrace.

xxx

I have to say, as lame as this sounds, I was tearing up a little at the end. I really, really enjoyed writing that. It's the longest one-shot I've ever written, and I hope it didn't seem like too much to cram into one, but I think it was more fitting if you get it all in one shot. Anyway, please review—I don't often write fluff, and I want to know how you think I did. I know this sounds whiny, but I can't _stand _when people favorite without reviewing. If you liked it enough to favorite, please comment with some concrit or something.


End file.
